Shades of the Helots! triumph o’er your foe!
Greece! change thy lords, thy state is still the same;
Thy glorious day is o’er, but not thine years of shame.”
He broke off abruptly. “The pamphleteers have been busy since he landed,” he admitted, a trace of shrewdness edging his tone, “but the abuse seems to have dulled now. I have been waiting for that to issue.”
“His lordship, sir,” announced a clerk, and the proprietor sprang to his feet to greet his visitor.
Gordon’s eyes lighted with pleasure as they fell on Dallas, noting the change the few months of relief from the galling pressure of poverty had wrought in the features no less than the attire. “Are the types ready?” he asked the publisher.
“Yes, my lord. We distribute to-morrow. I have marked a few stanzas, however, that I hesitate to include in a further edition. Here they are. You will guess my reason.”
The other looked, his eyes reading, but his mind thinking further than the page.
“London! Right well thou know’st the hour of prayer;
Then thy spruce citizen, washed artisan